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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27268861">Let It Last the Night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipfloppandas/pseuds/flipfloppandas'>flipfloppandas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aquaphobia, Astraphobia, Cuddling, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, M/M, Mild Language, Thomas Jefferson is Not an Asshole, Thunderstorms, sometimes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:35:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,744</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27268861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipfloppandas/pseuds/flipfloppandas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It is storming outside, and Alexander has nowhere to turn. Luckily, Jefferson has nothing special going on this particular Friday night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>180</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let It Last the Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is me getting my feet wet in the Jamilton. Also, shoutout to this short little fic being my first ever modern!au.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alexander's plan to sleep through the storm went right out the window when he awoke not even two hours after falling asleep.</p><p>It had not been intentional on his part. In fact, he would have loved nothing more than to sleep until the sun shining through his disrespectfully thin curtains woke him the next morning. Of course, he ought to have anticipated that actively <em>wanting</em> to sleep through the night would have resulted in the exact opposite, and sure enough, right when his REM cycle was at its lowest, a crash of thunder boomed beyond the barrier of his window.</p><p>He woke with a scream trapped in his throat, like he had just broken free from the throes of a nightmare. That comparison hit very close to what it had felt like in that moment. Those seconds before his eyes opened to the ceiling above him had been defined by the uncertainty of whether his consciousness was in reality or trapped in a dream he had not yet learned how to escape.</p><p>It was reality, he realized once the panic faded enough, though that offered him little comfort. Right now, the world was nearly just as bad as any nightmare his mind could conjure up.</p><p>Outside, the storm raged on. Alexander had been prepared for it, really, ever since the weatherman predicted it earlier that week. He had stayed up the entire night before, not even allowing himself a nap anywhere in the day. Then, when night had fallen, he had drunk several cups of soothing, chamomile tea. He had even run circles around his apartment—to the displeasure of his downstairs neighbors—for good measure. He had taken all the steps he could to make sure he slept like the dead until the world outside was normal again.</p><p>Yet despite his efforts, here he was, wide awake. He felt rather indignantly slighted given that all of his hard work had summarily gone to waste, but it was hard to be angry when the sudden crackle of thunder filling his ears made him feel like he was seconds away from drowning.</p><p>His fingers were shaking like thick leaves as they sought out his cell phone resting on his nightstand. When he pressed the 'on' button, his stomach sunk low once he saw that the time had not even passed midnight. There were so many hours until daybreak, until the storm passed, and the skies cleared.</p><p>He tried not to think about that, as he was already hopeless enough as it was. He focused instead on the text message notifications that were showing across the screen. There were four of them in total: one from John, Lafayette, Hercules, and Eliza each. They were all relatively the same message, some variation of "<em>you good?</em>" Or "<em>do you want me to come over?</em>"</p><p>Sweet messages, but useless, nonetheless. John and Lafayette were both out of town for their respective businesses. Hercules was possibly still in the middle of a date night that Alexander had no desires to ruin. As for Eliza, they had only just gotten back to the level of a tentative friendship. Despite her reaching out, he was not quite sure he was deserving of the privilege of her fixing his problems again just yet. </p><p>He supposed he could call John or Laf just to talk, but he just could not see how voices through a speaker would make his irrationally terrified heart any easier to bear.</p><p>He decided not to respond to any of them at all. It was better if they thought he had managed to sleep through the storm. There was no help they could give that he was willing to receive, so what purpose was there in worrying them?</p><p>And in any case, he <em>was</em> fine. There was lighting flashing outside his windows and thunder rocking the sky, but he was fine. He was perfectly safe.</p><p>New York was not even the kind of place to experience such terrible weather catastrophes as St. Croix, he reminded himself as he rolled out of bed, intent on making himself another mug of soothing tea. Nothing that happened here would ever compare to what had happened there. Nothing would compare to winds so strong that trees were ripped from their roots, to rainwater that flooded the streets so deeply you couldn't see the bottom, to thunder so loud it almost covered the screams—</p><p>Lightning flashed outside his window, staining his carpets and walls in a white glow. The mug he did not quite remember retrieving slipped from his hand and clattered into his sink. He had just enough mental clarity to be thankful that it had not broken.</p><p>His hands grasped the edge of his sink, his knuckles white with effort. He ducked his head and took in a deep breath. The air felt like sheets of paper were sliding down his throat. He took another and another. <em>Just breathe. Just breathe...</em></p><p>Lightning lit up his window once more and suddenly, he knew he could not do it, not unless he wanted to spend his night huddled underneath his kitchen table like a frightened child.</p><p>A new sense of panic hit him then. What could he do? He could not stay, but he could not leave because where would he go? He had only one friend potentially available to him, but even if he were willing to ruin Hercules's date he would have to go <em>outside </em>because how could he ask Hercules to not only cut his date short but also come running over here? But Alexander didn't want to go outside, he wanted to go to sleep and he wanted the storm to stop and he wanted to feel like himself again, not this pathetic creature that some rain and thunder had turned him into and really, wasn't he too old to still be scared like this and—</p><p>Surely at the moment right before he was about to pass out, his body forced him to breathe. He took in another breath, determined to slow the whirlwind of thoughts wrecking his brain. He had to think logically, just for a moment, just long enough to come up with a plan. The situation as it stood was unacceptable: John, Laf, and Eliza were not options; Hercules was both preoccupied and too far away, and so the only option left was—</p><p>Ah.</p><p>Technically, there was one person, who lived in this very building, who was potentially available.</p><p>It was a terrible idea, but Alexander had weathered his way through more than enough of those.</p><p>He packed hardly anything, only barely remembering to grab his phone and keys on his way out the door. He ignored the elevator as he all but ran down the hall, certain that if he stepped foot inside of it, the power would go out and he'd be stuck inside and he truly could not think of anything other than leaving this building altogether that would be worse than that. </p><p>He burst into the stairwell, and the crash of the door banging into the wall only served to make his nerves even worse. He skipped every second step, and it was only by the grace of God that he did not trip over the shoelaces he hadn't bothered to tie. He paid no mind to the white walls tinted an almost eerie orange by the lights, nor the windows that looked out onto the street at every landing. He focused only on the doors as he passed them, until he finally reached the second floor.</p><p>He burst through that door with slightly less enthusiasm, but only just. His eyes darted almost wildly to each and every front door, searching for the right apartment number.</p><p>Once he found the right door, he skidded to a halt in front of it. He knocked, thrice and hard, and it was only after he had done it that he realized he might have sounded a bit too much like the police. </p><p>It was also that same exact moment that he knocked that he realized just how <em>terrible</em> of an idea this was. Not just acknowledged, but truly, genuinely comprehended how this was possibly the worst plan he had ever had in his life.</p><p>Before he could turn around, race back up the stairs, and pretend like this entire moment never even happened, Jefferson opened the door.</p><p>For several seconds they stared at each other, and he could not say who was more shocked to see the other. Alexander would probably say himself, because he realized in that moment that he had never seen Jefferson outside of his ridiculous and outrageously-colored work suits. The man somehow managed to find pajamas pants that were just as ridiculous and outrageous. </p><p>The top half of him was not so bad, though: just a comfortable-looking tank top that contoured nicely to his chest. If Alexander looked hard enough, he could see the outline of his nipples through the fabric.</p><p>(Alexander pointedly did not look hard at that. Just like how he didn't look at Jefferson's bare, and nicely sized biceps.)</p><p>It was Jefferson who broke the silence first, with a very eloquent, "What the fuck." </p><p>He was seemingly so stunned that he could not even add a proper questioning inflection. Alexander supposed he couldn't really blame him.</p><p>There were few things Alexander regretted more than putting himself into this situation, and his solution was to say the first thing that popped into his mind: "Your marketing initiative is shit."</p><p>That was not strictly true. While it was still a terrible plan (as all of his plans were), Jefferson had had ideas far worse before. Hamilton had learned, albeit very slowly, to simply let some disputes rest. This would have easily been one of those things.</p><p>"You're joking," Jefferson said, fairly.</p><p>"I'm not. You should be ashamed of yourself, really," Alexander said as he simultaneously shouldered his way into Jefferson's home. </p><p>"What the fuck—"</p><p>"I don’t think you’re truly considering how our content impacts the overall experience a person has with our organization," he soldiered on, fully aware that this was rude and presumptuous even for him. Unfortunately, 'being aware' and 'caring' were not the same thing. Unfortunate for Jefferson anyway.</p><p>He looked back and did a quick inspection of Jefferson and saw that his dark eyes looked rather alert. Furthermore, his hair was still out in its wild mane of a style, and given what Lafayette had told him about the complexities of black people haircare routines, that probably meant Jefferson hadn't been sleeping yet, so it wasn’t like Alexander was interrupting anything. If anything, he was probably doing Jefferson a favor by livening up his evening. And really, it was Jefferson's fault for renting a place anywhere within the vicinity of Alexander, so there was no reason to feel guilty.</p><p>"It’s all well and good that you’re prioritizing quality over quantity..." he said, hardly even registering his words as he took in the apartment. Alexander had never been inside (because why ever would he willingly go inside Jefferson's home?), but he wasn't surprised to find that it looked just as he imagined it would. </p><p>(Not that he sat around wondering what Jefferson's home of all things looked like, of course.)</p><p>The living room had a cream-colored and very expensive looking couch with a blanket draped across the back of it. In front of it was a sleek coffee table holding a cell phone, a pair of rose gold <em>Beats</em> headphones (he was mildly surprised to see that Jefferson owned something that <em>wasn't </em>purple), a box of fancy tissues that seemed like the kind Alexander usually was not willing to spend the extra three dollars on, and a stack of magazines that were probably just there for decoration for whatever fucking reason. On the wall was an insultingly large television with—</p><p>He stopped when he saw the <em>Fox News</em> logo lighting up the flat screen across the room. His slight guilt for disturbing Jefferson's evening instantly evaporated.</p><p>"Seriously?” he said, not bothering to hide his disdain. “You can't find anything better to watch on a Friday night?"</p><p>"<em>You</em> can't find anything better to do on a Friday night than to break into my house?" Jefferson shot back.</p><p>"I don't see why you're complaining.” he waved his hand towards the screen, the movement further proving his disgust. “It's not like you're doing anything worthwhile."</p><p>Alexander did not see it, but he could feel the way Jefferson rolled his eyes. "Literally anything not involving you is worthwhile."</p><p>Alexander opened his mouth, ready to snap back with an infinitely cleverer retort, when the sky suddenly flashed outside Jefferson's unblocked window. A second later, the muted crackle of thunder came. Then it was all drowned out by the force of the rain beating against the window and pavement and trees and people and—</p><p>"Please, you ought to be thanking me," Alexander said as he stomped over to the window to draw the blinds closed because really, who just sat in their house in the middle of the night with their windows uncovered anyway? "Clearly no one who spends their evenings watching <em>Fox</em> <em>News</em> knows happiness in their life."</p><p>His hands shook as he grabbed the cord, and he regretted even bothering, because standing right next to the window meant that the noise was even louder. He could see the way the rain distorted the world beyond the glass and the way it ran in rivers down the street corners and he couldn't help but to wonder how much more would it have to rain before it covered the street entirely, taking everything in its path along with it—</p><p>He realized that time had undoubtedly passed, and all his ears had heard was the rushing of water. Surely Thomas must have given some type of snarky reply, though, and it was now Alexander's turn to return the volley of words. That was hard to do when you were unsure what had even been said in the first place.</p><p>He bit the bullet and asked in a voice that was just a bit too ragged, "What did you say?"</p><p>It seemed that he had been wrong entirely, though, because the look on Jefferson's face told him that no, the man had not said anything at all.</p><p>Well, that was awkward. He was unsure what to say that would diffuse the situation he had just put himself in. It was a task made harder by the fact that he was still standing by the window and his body was wound up so tight he could hardly blink and—</p><p>"I hope you didn't think that you would not only barge into my house uninvited <em>and</em> dictate what I watch on my own television, because you are about to be sorely disappointed."</p><p>With that, Jefferson rounded his couch, plopped down onto the middle seat, and turned his attention back to where a woman was saying something or other about healthcare.</p><p>"Disappointing for you," Alexander said as he peeled himself from the window. He flopped down next to him and continued, "because I'm about to school you on why each and every thing that comes out of these people's mouths is wrong."</p><p>Jefferson looked as if he were only just managing to hold back a groan. "Please don't."</p><p>Alexander did. Together they sat and watched <em>Fox News</em>, Alexander making sure to complain about every point made, even the mildest of political positions. Jefferson naturally argued back, which led to very heated discussions that usually ended with them having to rewind the program when they talked over the following points made.</p><p>It was an interesting way to spend the better part of an hour. Not quite how he expected his evening to go (and what exactly had he expected coming here anyway?) but infinitely better than the alternative. He could hardly even hear the furious patter of rain over the sound of the television and Jefferson's voice, the latter of which seeming to conveniently grow louder whenever thunder would boom outside.</p><p>Alexander was not an idiot. He knew that by now Jefferson was fully aware of why Alexander was here. Still, the other man didn't mention it. He only continued to argue like they were in the office on the clock as opposed to sitting on his couch in their pajamas, much past the socially acceptable time to entertain a guest who could not even be called a friend. It was... nice.</p><p>Or at least it was, until suddenly every light in the room went out, like the water from outside had come in and doused the flames.</p><p>They sat in silence for several moments. </p><p>Jefferson broke it with, "Fuck."</p><p>"Yes," Alexander agreed, feeling like his heart was going to fall out of his chest. "Fuck."</p><p>It got worse with every second—the feeling of impending doom, that was. He could feel each second pass, even though his heart beat at least 100 times during each one. It got so bad that the beating nearly drowned out the sound of an ocean's worth of rain and thunderous lightning, but nothing could quite drown that out.</p><p>He panicked when he felt Jefferson move. Before he could stop it, his hand clenched around Jefferson's wrist in a vice grip.</p><p>"Where are you going?" he asked in a voice that was far too frantic.</p><p>"Nowhere," Jefferson answered simply, and sure enough, he never actually lifted off the seat. He did stretch his body forward, though, his long arm reaching towards his coffee table. Alexander—having enough awareness to feel a bit ridiculous for his reaction—could hear him fumbling around, before settling back into his spot.</p><p>Then, headphones—the not-purple <em>Beats</em> ones— were being fit over Alexander's ears.</p><p>"Um..." he started, even though he was unsure what he even wanted to say. Jefferson ignored him either way, and focused only on the cellphone in his hand, the glow of the screen like a rendezvous point in what was nearly a pitch-black room. His thumb pressed several buttons, and then the sound of smooth music was injected into his ears.</p><p>After a moment, Alexander spoke, "You listen to R&amp;B?"</p><p>He imagined Jefferson arching a brow at him. "You got a problem with that?" he responded, his voice barely heard over the sound of piano keys and a gentle, thumping beat.</p><p>Alexander shrugged. "I figured your music taste would've been shit. Like your politics."</p><p>"Says the guy who thinks Ariana Grande's music is anything better than mediocre."</p><p>"Fuck you, Ariana Grande is great," he said absently, as the music continued to bump softly in his ears.</p><p>Despite the lyrics literally pumping into his brain, it was only after the third "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCCGIXME164"><em>say yes</em></a>" that Alexander realized that the song was about sex. He was not quite sure how to feel about the fact that Jefferson listened to sexy R&amp;B songs. He was also not sure how to feel about the fact that this was the one Jefferson chose for him to listen to. Was he <em>supposed </em>to feel something about it?</p><p>(The fact that Jefferson had done this at all—given his intruder his headphones to block out everything but the sound of soothing music, resigning himself to sitting in silence in his own house; hadn’t just kicked him out the moment he barged in, really—definitely meant something, though. Alexander was not so in denial that he couldn't see that much.)</p><p>Eventually the song changed to one considerably less suggestive, but just as slow, just as smooth and calm. Time passed that way, Alexander listening to Jefferson's music while the man in question scrolled through his social media and Google searches on his phone. Dully, Alexander could hear the rumbling of thunder, but each time, he only focused harder on the voices of the singers, and the overall presence of Jefferson.</p><p>Speaking of Jefferson's presence, Alexander had belatedly noticed that they had settled slightly closer to each other than they had been earlier. Jefferson smelled like... the lingering scent of a cologne that was probably ridiculously overpriced and tailored specifically towards rich pricks like him. What a stupid thing to waste money on. Hamilton's fifteen-dollar bottle of <em>Nautica Blue</em> worked just fine.</p><p>It did smell nice, though.</p><p>With each song that started and ended, exhaustion pulled at him more and more. If he were smart, he would get up and go back upstairs to his own home, maybe even swallow his pride, and thank Jefferson while he was at it. Surely Jefferson would not have done this if he had not realized how much of a wreck Alexander was, so he could concede that the man deserved a bit of gratitude for not being a total prick for once in his life. Furthermore, it had been a while since he had last seen lightning flash across the window, so surely the storm was beginning to lessen. </p><p>If the weatherman were to be believed, the rain would not be stopping any time soon. Truthfully, so long as it continued to beat down as hard as it was, his nerves would persist, but not to the point he could not manage. He was perfectly capable of surviving the rest of the night on his own at this point.</p><p>Still, he did not move. The raindrops he could still see pattering against the glass made the fear grip around his heart just enough that he was still not eager to endure it alone. </p><p>More importantly, the couch was contorting around his body in just the right way, and Alexander had no desire to transfer himself to his lumpy mattress, nor his even lumpier couch. Jefferson also smelled really good. It was very necessary that he pointed that out twice. Also, he was close enough that he could practically feel the heat radiating from his skin, and why would he trudge back up to his cold and desolate apartment when he could just stay right here?</p><p>Exhaustion pulled at him with even more force. He could not remember the last time he had been this exhausted. Sleep hit differently when the high of anxiety crashed, apparently. Jefferson would understand that, certainly. Also, he would not expect Alexander to leave so late, would he? Surely it would be bad manners for him to insist that the man who had broken into house to leave well past bedtime.</p><p>Still, Alexander could see how making that assumption would be just as rude, so he asked the first question he could think of to segue into the topic. "Who is this singer?"</p><p>"Jill Scott," came the muffled response.</p><p>"The soothing and sweet quality of her voice is putting me to sleep," he said in a voice that certainly made his intentions quite clear.</p><p>Thankfully, Jefferson picked up what he was putting down. "Well, don't stay up on my account."</p><p>Alexander breathed a sigh of relief. Never had a task seemed more daunting than having to walk all the way back to his own home. Now that he had been released from that obligation, he felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his shoulders.</p><p>Speaking of shoulders...</p><p>Alexander glanced over out the corner of his eye. There was enough light glowing through the blinds for him to see Jefferson's body next to him. The exposed skin of his shoulder looked smooth under the glow of night, and surely it was as warm as the rest of his skin, and skin that soft would probably feel wonderful pressed against him...</p><p>There were a lot of emotions flying around in his head. That was the only explanation he could give for why he suddenly decided to lay his head down on Jefferson's shoulder.</p><p>Long moments passed in silence. Then, Jefferson shifted, nudging Alexander's head off of him. </p><p>Mortification began to rise, but before it could take him over, he felt Jefferson's arm slither underneath his neck. His hand pulled Alexander in close, and he abruptly found himself with his head buried in the other man's chest. </p><p>He did not allow himself, for the moment, to overthink. He simply scooted closer, hooking his legs over Jefferson's thighs. He pointedly did not think about the fact that Jefferson's arm moved to drape across his waist, keeping him secure.</p><p>And they just... laid there. Like a couple, even though they weren't even friends, really.</p><p>He pointedly did not think about how this was quite possibly the strangest situation he had ever been in. He also did not think of the warmth that bloomed in his center and spread to every corner of his body. He did not think of how he had thought about being in this very position with this very person multiple times, and not thinking about it was very helpful for his complete and utter disbelief.</p><p>He thought of nothing but the solidness of Jefferson’s chest, and the securing weight of his grip, and his smell, and his body heat. He thought of only those things until he fell asleep.</p><hr/><p>Jefferson’s curtains were not made of what was surely glorified tissue paper like his were, so they did not allow for the morning light to shine obnoxiously through the room, but Alexander woke with the sun anyway.</p><p>He did not have much of a chance to be confused. The weight of an arm still around his waist made sure he knew exactly where and how he was sleeping.</p><p>He was mortified, but even more so astonished by the fact that he had actually managed to sleep the entire night through in this position.</p><p>He stared at the window for a moment in an effort to stall the necessity of dealing with the predicament he had placed himself in. The curtains glowed a golden color under the sun, peppered with the tiny shadows of raindrops still dotting the glass. Somewhere not too far away, a bird chirped softly. It was repugnantly peaceful, compared to the night before.</p><p>Knowing that he could not justify staring at a window of all things any longer, he finally gave in and looked up at the face mere inches from his own. Jefferson's head was leaned back, his face nearly perfectly directed towards the ceiling. His hair was the wildest Alexander had ever seen it, and his mouth was dropped so far open it was a wonder he wasn't snoring.</p><p>When Alexander looked down, he saw Jefferson's cellphone nearly falling from his slackened grip. He imagined Jefferson sitting up all night, trying to entertain himself with his phone while the entire weight of Alexander prevented him from doing literally anything else, until finally he fell into what was probably the most uncomfortable sleep of his life, and felt just the slightest bit of guilt.</p><p>Only the slightest bit. Alexander maintained the point that Jefferson brought this all on himself.</p><p>If Alexander was at all tempted to try and <em>not</em> deal with the most awkward morning after ever, Jefferson ruined it by choosing that moment to awaken. He groaned loudly and cracked open one eye to look at Alexander.</p><p>They stared at each other for three very long seconds. Surely there was something he could say that would make this situation any less unbearable.</p><p>He could think of nothing, and so went with a very awkward, "I, um... I'm gonna go..."</p><p>Just like the night before—which had gotten him into this whole mess—his plan was foiled. Before he could have a chance to even try to get up and run away, Jefferson surged forward, knocking them both off kilter. Alexander found himself flat on his back, a heavy weight against his chest, and a headful of black curls in his mouth.</p><p>"I laid still all night so you could sleep," Jefferson said, shifting his legs against Alexander's until he was presumably comfortable. "You're going to repay the favor."</p><p>He said that as if that made any sort of sense. As if anything about this situation made any sort of sense. </p><p>Perhaps it did, in a way?</p><p>In any case, Jefferson was asleep again before he could try to talk sense into him. His weight was so heavy Alexander could scarcely breathe, and he had no desire to move from this spot. He fumbled with his own phone until the screen was in view and checked the expected weather for tonight.</p><p>He wondered if he could convince Jefferson that he was scared of high winds.</p><p>The End</p>
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